


Goddesses’ Chosen

by selahexanimo



Category: Legend of Zelda
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-02
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-28 04:41:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selahexanimo/pseuds/selahexanimo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wisdom will never fight alone. Courage has served her once; in death, he will serve her again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goddesses’ Chosen

**Author's Note:**

> Secret Santa (New Year’s Day?) giftfic for [bluelemonsky](http://bluelemonsky.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! who asked for, “Something cute and fluffy! I don’t care if it’s ZeLink or even non-main characters, or interactions with other creatures like loftwings!”

When the Princess Zelda was little more than a child—toddling beside her nurse in cambric gowns through the courtyard of her father’s castle—she spied a wolf upon a hill.

She and her nurse had walked to the battlements to gaze out upon the land, companionably silent in the dry, frozen dusk, watching their breaths turn white, watching the sun sink away beyond the mountains. But standing there, staring through the crenellations, the princess had caught a glimpse of something pale and sleek moving among the dark hills. She squinted.  
  
The figure paused upon the crest of a hill, and Zelda saw that it was a dog—or something very like. Its coat was creamy gold, thick and flowing. Her father’s dogs did not have such magnificent coats. The creature seated itself and turned its head toward her, as if it watched her back.  
  
“Is it a Wolfos?” she asked her nurse, pointing.  
  
“Whatever do you mean, milady?” the nurse had asked, staring at the hill to which the princess pointed. “There is nothing there.”

“But there is! Can’t you see it?”  
  
The nurse would not believe her. Zelda finally gave up. She mumbled an excuse and watched the creature until it stood and vanished among the hills. But her mind burned with questions, and these she took to her father. He indulged her, as was his wont, lifting her onto his lap and bouncing his knee as he spoke.  
  
“The creature of which you speak does not sound like a Wolfos,” he said, “for they are gray, skulking cowards, not so proud as you describe. Perhaps you saw a wolf. I did not think there were wolves in Hyrule—none have been sighted for centuries.  
  
“I have read that wolves are precious to Farore,” the king continued, “and that they are not entirely creatures of flesh and blood. Some say they are Farore herself.”  
  
“There is a goddess in the land?” the princess had gasped, thinking of the wolf upon the hill, watching her, unseen by the nurse.  
  
“Perhaps,” her father said. “But a wolf may also be a sign that her Chosen hero wanders the land.”  
  
The princess had heard stories of the Goddesses’ Chosen. Maidens blessed by Nayru to bear Her Wisdom, Farore bestowing the gift of Her Courage upon a humble hero. Din, damning a greedy sorcerer with Her Power until his soul rotted.  
  
“You will know the Goddesses’ Chosen when times are bad,” her nurse would tell her, spinning in the firelight, reciting old tales as the princess sat at her feet. “When twilight covers the land and rain falls without cease, that is how you will know the time has come for the Goddesses’ Chosen to appear.”  
  
“But there is no rain,” the princess said, “and the sky is bright, even though it is always cold.”  
  
“Then the Goddesses have had no need to bestow Their blessings,” the nurse said. “But it does not mean their Chosen does not walk the land and watch over us.”  
  
It pleased the princess to think that one of the Goddesses’ Chosen watched over her. She looked for the wolf, the next morning, but she did not see it again, not that winter, and not for many winters afterward. Her stomach soured with disappointment. Had the wolf abandoned her? Had it not found her worthy enough to protect? Or did she yearn after phantoms and fairy tales?  
  
The years passed. The princess often explored Hyrule Field after her lessons, for she liked the clean, sharp smell of air, after the stifling air of the castle. But though she did not admit it to herself, she looked, too, for a glimpse of the wolf. She liked to imagine that there was some truth in her father and nurse’s tales—that the wolf was the Goddesses’s Chosen, and that it was watching over her.  
  
When the princess was sixteen, there came a bitterly cold winter. Frost iced the Hyrule Field; rime coated the windows. Zelda sat with her lessons before the hearth, so bundled up that she was little more than a pair of eyes, bright among the shadows of a hood.  
  
She sat alone. She could hear the soft, reedy wail of the wind outside the castke, and when she turned toward the window, she saw that the world outside had vanished into heavy snowfall and deep, gray twilight.  
  
The sight surprised her: when she had first looked out, the window had been clear. She rose, went to the window, and peered out. The courtyard lay empty before her, a muddy, torchlit smear sodden with snow.  
  
Except it was not quite empty. Something moved in the twilight—a pale, sleek shape—and with a cry of wonder, the princess recognized the shape for what it was. A wolf with soft, golden fur padded through the courtyard. It paused and lifted its head toward her window. Zelda pressed closer to the glass. The wolf regarded her for a moment, and then rose and walked from Zelda’s line of sight.  
  
The princess darted from the room and down to the main hall. The hall was filled with the bustle of retainers, courtiers, and soldiers. The princess stepped, quick and unnoticed, into the shadows, toward the front doors. The doors were firmly shut and heavy, and it took her a moment to wrestle one open.  
  
The wet patter of snow filled her ears, so different from the bustle of the castle, and the cold seared her nose and lungs. Snowflakes caught on her lashes, the edge of her hood. She cast about for the wolf but saw nothing but the snow and the dusk.  
  
But then there was a movement at the corner of her eye. She spun, skidding a little on the slick stone—and there was the wolf. It regarded her with one gleaming, red eye; its other eye was scarred over. It padded over to her. She put out her hand. The wolf pressed its head against her as if it were a cat. Her fingers caught in the roughness of its coat; she laughed and ran both her hands along its ears, deep into its fur. The wolf felt unlike anything she had expected, damp and coarse and rippling with strength, but there was a benevolence in the way it stilled beneath her touch.  
  
“Have the goddesses sent you to me?” she asked the wolf, laughing, delighted and awed that such a thing could be happening. “Are you really Farore’s Chosen?”  
  
The wolf slicked back its ears, then turned away from her and padded out into the snow. For a moment, she followed it, three eager steps, but then she paused. Her slippered feet were growing numb, and she did not know where the wolf would lead her. Her nurse had told her tales of folk wandering after spirits, caught in the moment, unconscious of danger. And if these poor souls did not perished, they were driven mad.  
  
“Wolf,” she breathed, “where are you taking me?”  
  
But even as she spoke, the world around her began to fade. The falling snow ceased, flake by flake, and the slushy courtyard beneath grew hard as a glacier—but her feet no longer ached with cold. She could see her breath, and yet she felt nothing of the chill. She pushed back her hood in wonder. The castle had faded until its walls were pearly-white; she no longer stood in the courtyard, but in the Field. Above her, the sky was clean and cloudless, the stars chips of crystal. She gazed about her at a world she did not recognize, and yet, she felt no fear.  
  
“What is this place?” she whispered.  
  
“This is the ghostly ether,” a voice murmured.  
  
When she turned back to the wolf, she found, instead, a hooded man standing in its place. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, and when he moved, he creaked, as if he were plated in rusted armor. Her heart clenched. For a moment, she was afraid of this stranger who had taken the place of her wolf. But then the man lifted his head, and she saw the glint of a familiar red eye.  
  
“Princess Zelda.” A sighing, rusted voice drifted from the hood, as the man sank to one knee. “I have waited long to speak with you.”  
  
“Please rise.” She stepped closer, at once cautious and charmed by the calmness of his voice. “You know my name, but I do not know yours.”  
  
“I have no proper name to give,” the man replied. “Call me the Shade.”  
  
He rose fluidly, though he creaked like rusted iron. “What has become of the wolf?” the princess asked.  
  
The Shade raised a hand, and his cloak slid away. Where flesh should have covered his fingers, there was nothing but bone and yellowed gristle. The Shade pressed his hand to his chest; the princess stared, dumbfounded, at it.  
  
“I am the wolf,” said the Shade. “And many other things besides.”  
  
The image of the Shade skewed, suddenly, and broke apart, as if he were a reflection in a shattered mirror. In quick succession, the princess saw a boy dressed in green, sword strapped to his back, and then a man, dressed likewise, a strange mix of relish and melancholy in his expression. And then the Shade was back, bony hand still clasped to his heart.  
  
“Do you remember me, princess?” His voice was urgent. “Do you remember me as a child? As a man?”  
  
“I’m sorry.” Her voice was small. “I do not know what I am mean to remember.”  
  
The Shade shuddered and dropped his hand. When he next spoke, his voice was sad. “It is always thus,” he said.  
  
“I apologize—”  
  
“Please do not.” He stepped forward, and his skeletal hands emerged from beneath the cloak; he held them out to her in and invitation. She stared down at them, a little frightened, but then she recalled that this was her wolf, her guardian. And so she lifted her hands and placed them in the Shade’s own. He gently closed his fingers. “I hope that you will know me soon enough,” he said.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
He tilted his head. “Is this winter not colder than any you have seen, my lady?” he asked.  
  
“It is.”  
  
“I think,” the Shade sighed, “it is a sign that trouble is brewing. You must be prepared for it, princess—for grim darkness to swallow this land and for the rain to flood this kingdom.”  
  
Zelda trembled. “What is happening? Are we in danger?”  
  
“Yes. Perhaps it will come soon, and perhaps it will not, but you must be wise, princess. You are the first to see me in a hundred, hundred years. Long have I waited to meet one of you—a Zelda, so like…” His breath caught. “So like the one I knew. But the Zeldas that came before you could not see me. You are the first.” He squeezed her hands. “The Goddesses must have chosen you.”  
  
Her body went light with bewilderment. It could not be possible that she was Nayru’s Chosen. There had been no evil in the land for centuries.  
  
“You cannot mean this,” she said.  
  
“I do mean it. I only hope that it is not true.”  
  
They are silent for a moment. “But take hope, my lady,” the Shade said. “Where there is Wisdom, there is Courage. If evil must descend upon the land, you will not fight it alone.” He gave a shuddering breath. “Wisdom will never fight alone.”  
  
And as Zelda watched his shadowed face, his image shifted, yet again. She saw the child and then the man. But now he smiled, his eyes bright and blue as summer, and when he squeezed her hands, his skin was warm and alive. Her body no longer felt empty, but full of light, and as she stared into his smiling face, she felt a name prickle the tip of her tongue. She knew him. That brilliant smile, that eager, earnest glance—she knew him, and yet she could not shape his name, though it ached in her mouth; she knew him, for once glorious moment. He saw the knowledge flicker through her eyes, and he glowed with happiness.  
  
“You will never fight alone, my lady,” he said. “I served you once, and I will serve you again.”  
  
She could not speak, for a radiant joy had closed her throat, made her light and dizzy. She squeezed his hands, then leaned forward and brushed a kiss, as light as snowflakes, across his forehead.  
  
“Thank you,” she said, for it seemed the right thing to say.  
  
Her lips tasted snow. She opened her eyes, and found she stood alone in her father’s courtyard, her hands grasping empty air.  
  
The hero, the Shade, the wolf, and the ghostly ether were gone, as if they had never been.

**oOo**

The hero came to her, months and months later. Twilight had swallowed her kingdom. In the end, she could not stop it; in the end, she stepped down from the throne her father had left to her, to save her people.  
  
She sat alone in a drafty chamber, staring out at the twilight. But then there was a noise behind her. She spun around. A wolf with a shackle upon its leg stood in her doorway, bearing an imp upon its back.  
  
It was not the golden wolf. But it was to the golden wolf that her mind immediately jumped. She jumped from wolf to Shade to hero in green—the hero holding her hands, promising, “Wisdom will never fight alone.”  
  
“Courage,” she said, and her voice was a breath in the silence of the chamber.  
  
The name she has tasted, back in the ghostly ether, occurred to her now. She spoke it, with reverence, staring into the summer blue eyes of the wolf.  
  
“Link,” she said. “Farore has chosen well.”


End file.
